Every Time It Rains
by Fadeaway Windwaker
Summary: It pours...Literati


A/N: You know you want it.

**Every Time It Rains**

Fadeaway Windwaker

"_I'm not scared-t__ry wearing your insides out_

_I don't even try; I know I've seen the best I'll have." –Guster "Rainy Day"_

She made love to the storm.

The rain came in ribbons, twisting around her body and leaving no place untouched. It plastered strands of almond hair to her cheeks, kissed her lips in the rough-gentle way he used to. Closing her eyes she could almost pretend that it was he seeping through her being, spreading into every part of her, that the water on her cheeks was warm because of his fingers and not because of her tears.

The thought was one too painful to lose herself in, and so she opened her eyes once more and kept staring, not sure exactly what she was looking for, what she had come here to find. All she knew was that it was far more bearable than her house, where the walls closed in and the doors locked, trapping her inside the memories she tried to lock away. Out here thoughts left her mind and wandered, out over the water and far past where her tiny figure stood on the bridge staring into the storm, a tempest that hardly compared to the one raging within her.

She reached up and blindly pushed damp tresses out of her line of vision, a ring sliding on her slippery fingers. It tumbled from her hand and traveled downward to find its resting place in the water, and she stared as it went, the thought of reaching out and catching it not registering in her brain until long after it had sunk. She brought her fingers in front of her face and studied them.

It was the ring he had given her, the cheap imitation engagement ring that they had used as a trick to her mother and Luke one day, laughing until they cried, they were so proud of the ruse. He had pulled her aside a few hours later and run his thumb over the tiny band, sending chills through her stomach. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Keep wearing it," he murmured, still toying with her ring finger. She nodded slowly, not quite understanding but trusting him.

"Why?" She had asked quietly, watching in fascination as he fingered it. It was the gentlest he had ever been with her.

"Because," and he swallowed, breaking eye contact for an instant to glance down at the 25 cent diamond. His grip on her hand tightened as he looked straight into her eyes. "It might be real one day." And then he had let go and walked away, and she had stared after him in silent astonishment until sliding to the floor when her legs gave way beneath her.

A new ocean spilled from her eyes at this realization, and she was seized with the urge to throw herself into the lake and search until the ring was back on her finger. A shudder wracked her throat and she coughed, shaking her head and returning kisses to the sky.

She took a small step back and spread her arms. The heels of her sneakers lifted from the surface of the bridge as she tipped forward, a smile playing on the wetness of her lips as she moved to meet the water.

She closed her eyes in delicious anticipation of the union, a consummation of her lovemaking with the rain. Her body swayed closer.

The contact did not come. Instead she felt two arms yanking her backwards, heavy on her chest as they brought her balance back. Panic grasped her body and she reached for the chains that held her, clawing at them with her hands, gritting her teeth as she tried to free herself. The chains only clutched her tighter, and with the advantage of the cold and her exhaustion they managed to overpower her. Blue fingers dropped to her sides and she fell back into her captor, nearly causing them both to go tumbling over the edge.

"Jesus, Rory," she heard, the chains loosening slightly. Then she was being turned around, and a firm hand grasped her wet chin. "What the hell were you doing?"

She looked down into the water, eyes wide and docile. "I dropped my ring," she told him quietly, rocking a bit. "I want it back."

The person before her shook his head, strands of damp coffee hair hanging in his eyes. "Jess is gone, Rory." He felt as if he were trying to explain the concept of language to a kindergartner. "He's not coming back."

"But my ring…" She pointed helplessly. It was the only thing she could think about.

"Is gone," he finished for her quietly, tightening his grip on her arm in case she tried to slip away. "Come on. We're going to go home now."

"No." She shook her head vehemently, hugging her arms to her chest. "I can't go."

"Rory, it's freezing out here, you'll get sick." He put an arm around her shoulders and tried to guide her. Her feet stayed. "Rory, please." His tone bordered on desperation.

Her sapphire eyes turned to look up at him. "Will you get my ring back, Dean?" She was braiding a piece of damp hair with shaking fingers, biting her lip as she asked. She was coming apart. The sight made his head hurt.

"No, Rory." He told her firmly, knuckles turning white with the grip he kept on her shoulder. "I can't."

"Jess would. He would get it back for me." Her eyes clouded suddenly, seeming to take her away to another time, another place. "He told me it would be real." Wind whipped hair around her face, giving her a wild, abandoned look. Before Dean could judge her actions she was out of his reach, stretched across the bridge on her stomach, one delicate finger tracing circles on the water. "He loved me," she whispered, rain choking the words as she spoke them. Dean shut his eyes.

"He did," he forced himself to say, the ice threading through and paralyzing his heart making him forget momentarily about Rory's position. But denying it would be a lie. And he had never been good at lying to her. So he took the pain in the hope that she wouldn't have to.

She used her hands to support and push herself forward, until her head was bent over the side and she was looking down, the tips of her hair brushing the water. "Sometimes I can see him looking at me," she told Dean solemnly, eyes fixed on the rain pulsating against the lake's surface. "When it rains. I come here to find him."

He watched her, watched as she slowly inched closer, until her nose grazed the distraught ocean. He bent down and put a hand on her back, keeping her steady.

"Do you think he'll ever come back?" Her voice was little and quiet, and syllables were stolen by the wind. She moved her head back and forth as she spoke, hair caressing the water. Her body undulated and he instinctively grabbed her around the waist, sitting her up to look him in the face. He was worried for a moment that this would make her angry but she only looked blank, licking water from her lips. "Do you?"

He knew the question but pretended not to as he looked down at her hands, unconsciously resting on his knee. "Do I what?"

"Think he'll come back," she said, not seeming the slightest bit aware of the way he refused to look her in the eyes. Her fingers sketched patterns on his pant leg and he had to refrain from slapping her hand away to stop the little shivers of electricity coursing through his veins. He grabbed it instead, clutching her fingers between his.

"I don't know, Rory," he told her steadily, weighing his words as if they were almost too fragile to be spoken. By the time he said her name his voice had dropped to a whisper, and his thumb was stroking her left ring finger.

Without warning a shudder tore through her and she ripped her hand away, holding it to her throat and cradling the fingers as though they were broken. "Don't," she choked out, rich feeling flowing into her once mechanical voice. "Don't do that." She looked up at him. The rain made her eyes look gray. "Will you take me home, Dean?" The monotone had returned.

He put the hand that had held hers to his head, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again they were quiet. "Yes, Rory. I'll take you home." He brought his arms around her, bringing her to her feet in one silent motion. Her body rocked uncertainly and he leaned her against his chest, taking slow, easy steps until her blood began flowing and his example showed her how to function.

"I miss him," she mumbled when they reached her porch. Dank lamplight pooled over the steps; he lifted her feet from the ground and carried her to the door. She buried her face in his dripping wet sweatshirt, shivering. "I wish he was here." Her voice cracked, raw. He ran a hand through the intricate tangles of brown hair.

"He will be." He set her down gently, opening the door and guiding her inside before releasing her from his arms. He looked at the pale cheeks, at the damp hair that clung possessively to her face, the cold-kissed lips. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Goodbye, Rory." He turned away and she leaned back against the wall, a tired hum escaping her throat. The door stayed open and she watched him go, blinking several times into the hushed darkness before a shriek came from behind her.

"Rory, sweetheart, where have you been?" Lorelai embraced her daughter, forgoing an answer for several seconds while she held Rory. Then she pulled back and looked into the girl's face. "Well?"

Rory looked toward the open door, and her mouth smiled at the water that slid across the windows. "I was in the rain," she told her mother, laughing silently as she kneaded the fingers of her left hand.

"I was with the rain."

Far from the sheltered sanctuary of the Gilmore home a tall, brown-haired boy was bent over the endless waters, one hand shoved into their depths as the rain pounded into his back.

His fingers brushed the gold.

---


End file.
